APGD 07

Chapter 7

99th Year Debut
Pro Gamer

Time passed quickly.

It was already the fourth day since I had joined Park Yongwon’s team.

The tournament registration was already completed, and there were about thirteen days left until the regional representative qualifiers would begin.

I reflected on the past four days.

Four days filled with my desperate struggle to stabilize the team.

To be honest, we hadn’t played that many matches.

Instead of blindly grinding games, we were at a stage where feedback yielded more results.

On top of that, two of our members worked part-time jobs on weekends, so our available time was physically limited.

Still, there had been some clear progress.

After all, I had way more experience than most coaches when it came to “rehabilitating” players.

“I corrected things as harshly as a professional team would.”

I started with the basics, drilling core jungle concepts into Park Yongwon.

[If you’ve cleared all your camps, you should recall here, hyung. Do you really think hovering top right now benefits the team?]
[You need to sync your turn here, otherwise the timing for objectives in your next path won’t line up.]

And with our biggest weak spot—the support—I drilled vision management into him down to the second.

[Got it? If you don’t understand, just memorize it for now.]
[Wait, Ham, how the hell do you know all this when you’re not even a support main?]
[What’s weird is the fact that you’ve been playing without knowing this, idiot.]
[Ugh, this is giving me a headache, but fine… I’ll memorize it word for word, Coach Ham.]

By the next scrims, the difference was noticeable.

Unlike the first day, where I had to single-handedly carry and overturn unwinnable games, the team was clearly becoming more stable.

But…

[Nice one!]
[Why’s Yongwon hyung playing so well this match?]
[And Haneul’s vision control is way better since Ham’s lecture!]

While my teammates grinned ear to ear after every win, I couldn’t help but think deeply.

“Just as I thought… this isn’t a perfect solution.”

Park Yongwon himself was fine.

It was like drawing on a blank canvas—he was picking things up surprisingly quickly.

But my concerns lay with the bottom lane.

Specifically, with our support, Kang Haneul.

If I hadn’t analyzed his replay on the first day, I probably wouldn’t be so conflicted.

From a results standpoint, he had definitely improved after feedback.

But…

“Once I suppressed his aggressiveness, the sparkle in his talent disappeared.”

That absurd, one-of-a-kind talent I had seen in his replay—

It was gone.

And that was my biggest worry.

“It’s not like we can replace our ADC at this point…”

What I had discovered in Kang Haneul was his ability to see angles.

The ability to read the flow of fights and judge their outcome.

His eye for kill opportunities—his “kill sense”—and his mechanics were shockingly good.

And I wasn’t exaggerating.

When it came to recognizing a fight’s turning point and pulling the trigger, he was on par with many pros.

“Sure, he was the reason our first day games turned into coinflips… but looking closely, he never once misread a kill angle.”

The problem was, our ADC simply couldn’t keep up.

Not that it was Byun Sangjun’s fault.

To respond to such precise kill angles, you’d need a pro-level ADC—one just as aggressive as Haneul.

But ADCs, as a role, usually focused on survival and consistent damage, not high-risk initiations.

It was only natural that finding a marksman who matched Haneul’s style was nearly impossible.

“From Haneul’s perspective, he dives in because he knows it’ll work… but when it fails, the game collapses. And when it clicked, it was spectacular.”

More than half of his attempts required at least challenger-level synergy to succeed.

But that also meant his eye for the game was extraordinarily sharp.

From my perspective—aiming for the team’s highest ceiling—that wasn’t necessarily a flaw.

“But in today’s scrims, not a single one of those initiations came out.”

And that frustrated me.

A gift some people could never gain even if they spent their whole lives…

Was sitting unused, wasted.

And if we couldn’t harness it—

“Realistically, winning the whole thing would be tough.”

Sure, we were doing fine in scrims now.

But in the later rounds of the qualifiers or the main stage, much stronger teams awaited us.

And if anything, our team’s ceiling might’ve been higher on the first day, when Haneul’s wild plays at least pushed limits.

This wouldn’t do.

We needed a way to keep our strengths alive while covering our weaknesses.

“Hmm…”

As I mulled over this while watching a replay, someone tapped the back of my chair playfully.

“Yo, Ham, you’re already here?”

The familiar voice was none other than Park Yongwon.

“You’re here? Didn’t pull another all-nighter, did you? Oh wait, your clothes are different from yesterday.”

“Nah. I slept. Came early after waking up.”

“Stop right there…”

Yongwon narrowed his eyes at the PC café screen.

“…What the hell? It’s 10 AM, and it says you’ve already been playing for 4 hours!?”

“….”

“Didn’t you just say you slept?!”

“I did. Like 4 hours.”

“Dude! What if you collapse? You’re literally our only hope, you know?”

“You’re overreacting. I feel perfectly fine.”

And I meant it.

Even in my previous life, I had never slept more than 5 hours a day.

I was simply not the type who needed much sleep.

Besides, I was in my early twenties—my prime.

I felt like I could go days without sleep and still be fine.

“You keep acting invincible ‘cause you’re young, but one day it’ll catch up with you. I’m only saying this ‘cause I’m worried.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

We were only a year apart, yet he sounded like a guy in his 40s.

He hadn’t changed since my previous life—always nagging, but with a warm heart.

“Come to think of it, we’ve gotten close fast these past three days.”

Maybe it was because we had been teammates in a past life, but we already felt much closer than with the others.

And that was a good sign.

Our growing bond translated into noticeably better synergy between jungle and mid in-game.

“Anyway, stop nagging and sit down before someone takes that seat.”

Yongwon whistled a tune and sat beside me.

“If someone does, I’ll just ask nicely. People usually listen.”

“Not with how you look right now…”

His bleached, tanned gangster vibe screamed “delinquent.” Who’d want to sit near that?

But I swallowed the thought.

“…Never mind.”

“Wait—you were about to say I look like a thug, weren’t you?”

“Oh wow, so you do know how you look. Impressive.”

“Damn it… You’re lucky you’re the team’s brain. Otherwise, I’d have smacked you already.”

He made a mock punching motion before bursting into laughter.

“Hahaha, but seriously, why do you watch replays so obsessively?”

“Oh, this? Because as things are, it won’t work. Bot’s stabilized, yeah, but they’ve lost their edge.”

That sobered him up, and he leaned in to watch with me.

“You’re right. Haneul’s gotten more passive. Even in teamfights, he doesn’t have the same impact. Maybe we made him too safe?”

“Well, it does mean he’s been putting in effort.”

“Still, compared to you, that’s nothing. You stay up giving feedback to every one of us individually. You work harder than anyone.”

“…Why are you saying this all of a sudden?”

“Because I’m grateful, you idiot! How come you never get any praise?”

I just smirked and turned back to the screen.

At that moment, I was reviewing Kim Jehyeop’s top-lane plays.

“By the way, Jehyeop hyung’s too unselfish for a top laner. He gives up resources way too much.”

“Jehyeop? That’s just his personality. Big guy, huge appetite—but when it comes to everything else, he’s always giving.”

“…Really?”

I recalled seeing him wolf down cheeseburgers before and after every match.

Not a joke—he’d stack the wrappers like a mountain on his desk while gaming.

“Oh, but don’t ever try to steal even a bite. He’ll actually kill you.”

“I just wish he’d be a bit more selfish in-game. Top laners often need to carry depending on the matchup.”

“True, but…”

Yongwon crossed his arms.

“Thing is, Jehyeop’s not a pure top main. He’s an all-rounder. Never obsessed with laning or CS.”

“…Wait, what? He’s not originally a top?”

“You didn’t know? He’s a flex player. Always filled whatever role was left in clan games.”

That single fact made everything click in my mind.

“That’s it!!”

“…Huh? What is?”

I pulled up more of Jehyeop’s replays, watching him closely.

His mechanics weren’t amazing—around Master tier level.

But—

“His timing for warding against ganks is insane.”

Jehyeop’s greatest strength was his awareness.

Especially his vision control, which was at least Grandmaster-Challenger level.

It made sense—being an all-rounder, he had experience in every role.

He understood what both allies and enemies wanted, almost intuitively.

That insight only came from having played jungle, support, and everything else.

And his synergy with Byun Sangjun, our stable ADC, was naturally strong.

I turned to Yongwon.

“When the team gathers later, I’ll explain. But I think I’ve found a solution to our problems.”

I could feel it.

Something big was about to happen.